Bridges Burned
by Catalina Day
Summary: Tag to 5.03. Dean-centric. --He's given more than he's ever had, right from the start.--


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural, Eric "The Kripkeeper" Kripke does. Rock on, Kripke. Rock on.

**A/N:** So after watching 5.03 ("Free To Be You And Me"), I just had to write this. 'Cause Dean looked like he was being honest when he said he was happy, but it also looked like that moment had passed as soon as Castiel left. Like there was this bitterness beneath it all. (aka: Jensen Ackles being an awesome actor.)

And I got to thinking about that, and the whole arcing storyline from even pre-series. And, like great TV always does, it got me thinking about life in general, and why we are the way we are; often more damaged than we let on, and sometimes all the better for it.

This is what I got.

**Summary:** Tag to 5.03. Dean-centric. --He's given more than he's ever had, right from the start.--

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**Bridges Burned**

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_~Sometimes a bridge must be burned to ashes,  
so that a new and better one can be built in it's place.~_

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"I'm just... happy." The words echo in his skull long after Cas has gone. Bouncing around, causing all kinds of mayhem and general ruckus.

Because, yeah; right now, he's happy. In the moments when he can drive by himself and hear the rush of wind melding with Metallica or Boston or AC/DC or whatever's playing on the radio, he's good. With Sam somewhere else, when it's easier not to think or not to worry because he's not physically _present_ and damn it all, Dean can just breathe.

It's at night, sometimes, when he really feels it. When he wishes, more than anything, that even if the world was still ending, if he could just have his little brother back-

He shuts it down as soon as it starts, because he knows that wishing for things you'll never get is a waste of time. And time is something he's never had much of.

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_Sammy had been crying for the better part of twenty minutes, ever since Dad left. Dean had tried the TV, coloring books, and even made freakin' hand puppets. Seemed there was no quieting the four-year-old's cries._

_Sighing, he sat in front of the wailing child, head in hands. He felt the tears prick at the corners of his eyes, sharp and wet. But he wouldn't, he couldn't; his little brother needed him._

"_Sammy?" Without much more prompting, his scrunched brown eyes widened, puffy and bloodshot. The violent sobbing settled to a dull roar as he looked up. "I know you miss Daddy," Dean said, as sincere as any eight-year-old boy might've ever been, "but I'm here."_

_At this Sam reached out a little hand, tears still streaming down his cheeks, and grabbed onto Dean's t-shirt._

"_It's my job to protect you, too. And I'm always gonna be here, okay?"_

_And when the brown-haired boy finally quieted, hiccuping as he caught his breath, Dean knew it was true. Not because Dad had said so, not because he felt bad that Mom wasn't here... but because Sammy was his little brother, and he loved him._

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It's definitely not the same kind of lonely as when Sammy left for college. That was gut-wrenching. That had had him crawling through mud with broken ribs, grinning like a madman as he took down werewolves and ghosts and whatever the hell else dared stand before him and try to pick a fight. That was when his dad had been the only link in a very short chain still holding him to his family. To an already tenuous reality.

And he still knows, family matters. Family is important. But he knows, now, that _he_'s important too. His worth is not just measured by how well he serves others, but by who he is. Dean can't help but chuckle mirthlessly at his own thoughts as he stares out the windshield at the road and trees that go on forever, 'cause it sounds like something you'd hear on Oprah. It's something that if Sam'd said it, he'd probably laugh and call him a girl. But that doesn't stop it from being true.

Maybe that, he thinks, is why in this whole massive clusterfuck that is his life, he can find a little bit of happiness.

He's given more than he's ever had, right from the start. What he's gotten back isn't fair; in fact, it's kinda shit. But as he moves from town to town, once again on his own, he's beginning to understand.

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_'You leave, don't you _ever_ come back!'_

_His gut clenched horribly into a tight ball of fear and pain. Burned even more when he saw the door slam, and Sam was gone._

_For days afterward, it was like he was four years old again. He didn't talk, and John didn't push him. And for the most part, Dean just didn't know what to do with himself._

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Forgiveness isn't about the other person.

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_A week and a half after the fight, he'd headed out to Florida. There was a rising body count, not much for local authorities to go on, and probably a body to salt and burn._

_He'd called his dad the first night at the new motel, let him know he was okay. Wondered, as he lay on the scratchy comforter in the darkness, if Sam would ever call him again to let him know how he was doing._

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It's about you.


End file.
